


Only if for a Night

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, I think it was a song fic, M/M, Songfic, This has litearlly been sitting in my fic folder since 2012., This is the last hetalia fic you'll ever see from me, am putting it out here to be Rid of it. god I was in tenth grade when I wrote this what the hell, oh well now the whole world has to see my depraved sixteen year old self's writing, rip in rest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22345033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A 16 year old writes angst and never finishes it.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 3





	Only if for a Night

**Author's Note:**

> Old ass fic that has been sitting in my folder for... eight years. Never finished it. I liked it when I wrote it at 16. So. Yeah. Take it.

And I heard your voice as clear as day, and you told me I should concentrate. It was all so strange and so surreal that a ghost should be so practical. Only if for a night.

The first eighteen years of my life I shared a bunk bed with my brother.

The next four years I shared a room with a stuck up Brit.

After that I shared a bed with that stuck up Brit.

Three years ago we shared a hospital room.

We didn’t share the same injuries.

My sweetheart, my dear, my darling, my whole god damn life ended the minute his did.

Because of the one person who cared about him: Me.

It started out as our way of celebrating us being together for so long - going out and getting shit faced for the hell of it. The only problem was how Arthur acted in the presence of alcohol. Me on the other hand didn’t really drink that much. But the alcohol still found its way into my system. I wasn’t affected by it that much so I ended up being the driver since Arthur and scotch always meant bad news.

So there we were just driving around. My senses down, Arthur’s senses really down - he was passed out in the seat next to me - head curled down on his shoulder, that mess of ash blond hair even messier than usual and drooling a puddle on his shirt. And I guess him being like that distracted me.

Because I didn’t see the big ass truck making a turn at the light.

A left turn.

The side Arthur was on.

And because of my stupidity, I lost my boyfriend.

The light in my life.

And it was my fault that I had put it out.

Three years later I shared an empty bed with my loneliness.

Because of a stupid mistake I’d made.

None of his siblings blamed me surprisingly - considering how much his oldest brother would be a, “fucking twat” - as Arthur put it - about us by calling us “flamboyant faggots” every time Arthur thought’d it be a good idea to go visit his bat-shit crazy family in London. 

And the person who I’d thought would blame the me the most - his scattered brained mother - cried for everyone at his funeral that didn’t even show the slightest remorse. 

So I’d ended up being the one to comfort her as best I could. And she just looked up at me with those same bright green eyes Arthur had.

“Oh Alfie dearie,” she had sniffled badly at his funeral sitting in one of the chairs that my mom had dragged outta our basements for this very purpose. “It’s not your fault,” she wiped away some betraying tears, “We all miss him and wished that accident never happened but... Alfred love, Arthur doesn’t blame you one bit.”

As if Ms. Kirkland spoke to the dead. (Arthur’s second oldest brother mentioned that somewhere in their bloodline there existed a mediator or some goofy shit like that.) But she kept on telling me that I was not to blame for his death and that my boyfriend didn’t hate me or anything like taht and other paganistic shit about the dead.

Don’t get me wrong, Ms. Kirkland is a sweet woman and helped her convince my mom to be okay with me and Arthur but her ways of comforting kinda lacked since she couldn’t even spend more than five minutes at the funeral without looking at the casket and bawling her eyes out.

My mom on the other hand was the only person besides my brother Matt and his girlfriend who were actually comforting that day. (Yeah okay, Arthur’s two sister were being nice to me too, but they were saying the same things as their mom.

But no matter what they said to me, I knew Arthur - where ever my love was - was lookin’ down on me and being made because I’d taken his life.

I’d only believe that he didn’t hate me if he said himself.

And he couldn’t.

Because he was dead.

Because of me.

__________________________________________________

I’d never know what made me come to his gravestone every Saturday morning. But I’d done it for for the last three years. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time. Sometimes I’d talk to him, tell him about what was going on in my life - Matt getting married to that Ukrainian chick, me going to be an uncle soon. And sometimes what little I’d heard about his family like his best friend still being driven up a wall by his oldest brother. Usual stuff we’d talk about when I didn’t have to travel to talk to him. 

Some other times I’d just walk up to that grave stone, stare at the letters etches within the stone, sit in the grass and say nothing.

It’s moments like those where I begin to think that maybe he’s regretting being there. And how it’s my fault why he’s buried there with worms and not up here sitting next to me. Calling me a git, laughing too hard at me that I’d join in and we’d both end up on the floor struggling to get our breath again.

And then I’d start thinking about those old memories I’d had left of him - the best one always being how back in college when we’d argued so hard over something stupid like how I was a messy idiot or something like that and when I came back with something so god damn horrible that his face turned into something like he was about to cry but instead kissed me.

That one memory on how this whole mess got started.

When I got thinkin’ about those kinds of things, it made me even guiltier than I already was. I’d taken so much away from Artie that it was any wonder why I’d always hear his voice rambling away in my head when I was dreaming - telling me to look somewhere or some other stupid shit like that. But I knew I was just imagining it since I knew my head was just messing around with me since it was my fault I’d never wake up to him ever again - him sitting at the edge, a cup of tea in hand, the other hand on top of my back waiting for me to get up. And me just lying there for a few more minutes just to have him there, sighing and calling me a lazy git before leaving and going about to the kitchen to cook something horrible.

When I’d hear his voice - as muffled as it was - I’d half be expecting to open my eyes to find him there. But nuthin’.

It was likely I was goin’ insane.

Especially on this Saturday - which was the third anniversary of that last day I’d seen Arthur alive. I’m standing here thinking I was gonna say somethin to him. But it is one of days where I sit, stare and leave after 30 minutes of nothing. 

Just as I’m about to sit in the grass in front of his gravestone, the clouds in the sky decide to be assholes and rain. Right as I get to his gravestone. 

Fucking perfect.

Not really wanting to get all my clothes wet since I wasn’t ready for this kind of weather, I just look at his gravestone mutter an apology, and walk away.

I might be crazy after three years but I know I heard his voice say, That’s alright Love, I’ll see you later.

Kat was right... I really needed to stop coming here if I was thinking I was crazy.

_________________________

And as usual I come home to the apartment Artie and I used to share, with no clattering of a keyboard, no swearing whenever he had writer’s block, or no smoke alarm going off as Arthur came rushing to the door saying that it was an accident and he had fallen asleep while he was cooking.

The only sound I get when I unlock the door - ‘sides the door opening - is the rain pattering against the window that ruined my moment with Arthur.

Thanks a lot you stupid clouds.

A/N: Hello I’m sure I just broke all your hearts and I deeply apologize. (AND I KNOW I SHATTERED YOUR HEART INTO PIECES BROOKE. THIS IS REVENGE.) But... ah, I broke my own heart while writing this so I guess we’re even. (Okay that’s a lie I was actually laughing at how I was fucking with Alfred.) Anyway, for those of you who don’t know this story is based off of Florence and the Machine’s song, Only if for a Night. (Hence the title.) Which is about the leader singer of the band seeing her grandmother - who had committed suicide - in a dream telling her to focus on her life and be safe. But here’s the sad part, as nice as it was to see her grandma, she has to realize that her grandma is dead and will never come back. Kinda like what Alfred experienced with seeing Arthur in his dream. Because again no matter how real and wonderful it was to see him alive and being there with Alfred, he still has to wake up and remember that Arthur isn’t coming back and never will. I know that’s not a nice note to leave on but... here’s the thing: was that really Arthur coming into his dream telling him it wasn’t his fault that he’s dead or did Al miss his love so much that his brain produced an image of Arthur to make him happy? I have my own ideals about the dream he had, but I will say this: You can’t feel someone’s skin or heartbeat in a dream. :D So I hope that cheered you up a little. Only if for a night.

P.S. I am so sorry if I have any OOCness. I tried and that’s my excuse. Yes. And also fun fact: I’m a bagel who can’t spell. So any spelling errors lemme know, m’kay? M’kay. 

AUUUGH ONE LAST THING I FORGOT. The two sisters of Arthur mentioned are N. Ireland and Ireland. His oldest bro is Scotland and then the second oldest is Wales. Then N. Ireland and Ireland. THEN Arthur. The best friend being driven up the wall is Portugal, but bluh she just got mentioned so whatevs. And then I put implied CanKraine in there because why the fuck not. (Kat is Ukraine, and at the time of the dream Matt and Kat are married. And Al’s not an uncle... yet.) 

Now I’m out.

Adios mis ninos. (Also that was a long Author’s note. Sorry) 

Song: /watch?v=fYY-XE9dFjQ

(Also try listening to it while reading this. Tell me what happens. ;D)

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways goodbye and goodnight hetalia fandom 
> 
> OH GOD WAHT TEUFKC WAS THAT AUTHOR's NOTE HOLY SHIT.


End file.
